


'If I Be Waspish'

by Geenee27



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-17
Updated: 2017-07-17
Packaged: 2018-12-03 02:43:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11522859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Geenee27/pseuds/Geenee27
Summary: The Honourable Miss Phryne Fisher is vexed. Senior Detective Inspector Jack Robinson is probably in trouble.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Against my better judgement, I have committed Fanfic. Having a background in science and mathematics, and not a writer, I really have no business doing this. However, in this past year, because I have had such a ridiculous amount of fun and met so many wonderful kindred spirits through this MFMM fandom, I blame you.  
> I blame you - for showing me, to my great relief, that I was not in my dotage just because I obsessed over a TV show and it's actors, and for showing me how to find my inner Phryne.  
> I also blame Nathan Page - for reasons - and for the comments he made about how he challenges himself by trying something because it scares him.  
> I would like to thank my partners-in-crime from the bottom of my heart; @ollyjayonline who held my hand, had the infinite patience to critique several drafts and taught me how to be a better writer; and @solitarycyclist who beta'd the hell out of this story. They are my unsung heroes.  
> On a final note: For you @quiltingmom - not too much angst and lots of fluff. Sorry @bill0014 - le smut, not so much.

Mrs. Prudence Stanley sat stiffly upright in the armchair, hands folded one over the other in her lap, and glanced over at the side table to her left. The table held an assortment of expertly prepared delicacies for this afternoon's tea. She nodded approvingly at the tiered tray containing finger sandwiches, Victoria sponge, scones and oh, a pot of strawberry preserves, a favourite. Although continually vexed by her niece's unconventional life, Prudence was somewhat mollified by the fact that Phryne had at least had the foresight to hire a properly trained butler. That fact notwithstanding, leave it to her niece to find a butler named Butler! _Really Phryne, sometimes I think you are silently mocking me with some of your choices._

Her reverie was interrupted by the silent approach of the man himself, balancing a silver salver which held a teacup and saucer. Prudence took the proffered beverage, nodded her thanks, and brought it daintily to her lips.

“Mrs. Stanley, I do apologize, it appears Miss Fisher has been slightly detained,” said Mr. Butler. “May I interest you in something to eat?”

“No thank you, Mr. Butler, I shall await the arrival of my niece.”

“Very good, Madam.” He backed away and disappeared in the direction of the front foyer and the kitchen beyond.

Prudence looked pointedly to her right, towards the art deco mantle clock by the fireplace, and pursed her lips. Turning back and slightly to her left, she set her sights on the other occupant of the room who relaxed in a matching armchair situated on the other side of the table.

“Dr. MacMillan, I know Phryne has any number of social engagements that keep her busy, but it is very unlike her to be tardy for an invitation to tea. Where on earth could she be?”

Elizabeth (Mac) MacMillan's smile was wry. The mischievous streak in her was tempted to tell Aunt Prudence that her niece had perhaps been held up by a particularly troublesome lock she was trying to pick or an uncooperative miscreant she was pursuing down a back alley. After all, it was probably fairly close to the truth. Mac then sighed quietly and shook her head slightly, more to herself. _No need to further antagonize the old dear, it will only result in a tirade I shall be forced to listen to._

“I believe she is on a case with the Inspector. I am sure she will walk through that door any minute.”

Actually, Mac had no reason to be assured of this whatsoever, so she bemusedly sipped her whiskey. It was also just as likely that the Inspector had finally reached his limit, arrested Phryne for some shenanigan or other and thrown away the key. Regardless, her best friend was definitely going to owe her a bottle of her favourite whiskey for entertaining her aunt in her absence.

Just then, both women were thankfully reprieved from their ruminations when Miss Fisher's maid and companion, Dorothy Williams, or Dot as she was more familiarly known, made an appearance at the parlour doors.

“Mrs. Stanley, Dr. Macmillan, Miss Fisher asked Constable Collins to telephone and convey a message. She deeply regrets her delay and will be home momentarily.” Dot gripped the hem of her apron tightly in her hands, praying for forgiveness in her little lie of omission but there was nothing to be gained in antagonizing Mrs Stanley. Unbeknownst to the tea guests, this message from her fiance had also informed the household that there had been some trouble concerning the resolution of a stakeout. Said trouble had involved a fracas while subduing the perpetrators, resulting in a number of people entering the fray, including Miss Fisher. Hence the late return to her home.

Mrs. Stanley was not amused. _It's bad enough Phryne flouts propriety with her social activities, but to gallivant about the city with that Inspector and to purposely associate with the criminal element really takes the biscuit._ Prudence despaired of her niece; how on earth was she to make a suitable match with that kind of notoriety.

Half an hour later, there was still no sign of the mistress of the house. The household bustled around Mrs. Stanley, ascertaining that she had at least partaken of some of Mr. Butler's delicious afternoon tea and keeping her well hydrated. Mac had also managed to keep Aunt Prudence engaged with questions about the hospital board and various charity boards she sat on. The Women's Hospital board was of particular interest to Mac and the conversation flowed surprisingly well.

Mrs. Stanley finally sighed and made a motion indicating that this visit was apparently a lost cause. “Well, you must excuse me Doctor, I am expected at a fundraising event later this evening and really cannot wait any longer.”

Mr. Butler, anticipating Mrs. Stanley's departure, had appeared at the doorway to the parlour.

“Mr. Butler, please let my niece know that I will telephone her tomorrow.”

Bert and Cec, on staff as Miss Fisher's occasional drivers and odd-job men, had followed him from the kitchen and stood peering over the butler's left shoulder, hats in hand.

“Give you a lift home, Mrs. S? You too, Doc?” asked Bert, looking from one imposing woman to the other.

“That is very kind of you ...... “ Prudence began before being interrupted by the very noisy rumble of a car engine steadily getting louder as it approached the house. There followed the screech of brakes, as if being heavily trod on, and the engine cut out. All heads turned as one to the bay window fronting the parlour. A moment later came the hardy slamming of a car door, very hardy. Hurried but lopsided footsteps could then be heard stumbling up the walk with what was the unmistakable sound of a decidedly feminine heel. This was followed by the sound of another car engine, not quite as loud, which in turn cut out and there was another slam of a car door, almost as hardy.

The front door flew open and the mistress of the house made an entrance, her face murderous in its fury. She reached up to grab off a hat that was not there, then struggled with her scarf impatiently as Mr. Butler hovered.

The individuals in the doorway of the parlour and beyond, who had witnessed the commotion, could not fail to notice that The Honourable Miss Phryne Fisher was not herself. Her normally flawless raven black bob was in disarray, primarily due to daubs of mud and debris. Her cream wool coat had met a similar fate and its matching fur collar lay askew and partly torn.

Phryne bent down, tried to brush mud from the torn knees of her black trousers and yanked off the only shoe she was wearing.

“Miss Fisher!” A deep, agitated voice called from beyond the open front door and then the owner of the voice appeared. With her other shoe in his hand. Phryne stopped the ministrations to her sartorial shortcomings and without a word purposely closed the door in his face. Then she angrily turned towards the stairs to the second level.

Detective Inspector Jack Robinson, partner in crime-solving to the mistress of the house, stood on the front doorstep and slowly flexed his hands. He steadied himself as he was reminded of Petruchio from 'The Taming Of The Shrew', _“Come, come, you wasp; i' faith, you are too angry.”_

Indeed.

“Hrmph” huffed the man of few words before he took a deep breath, reached out and reopened the front door. Knocking at this point would have been moot, he deduced; Miss Fisher's staff would have not dared answer it. He stepped into the foyer and was about to open his mouth to direct a comment at the wasp in question when he caught sight of the audience out of the corner of his eye, standing off to the right in the parlour doorway. He gaped, then immediately closed his mouth and threw them an unusually bright smile which looked more like a grimace. And fooled no one.

Phryne spun towards Jack, grabbed the shoe from his hand, barely resisted the urge to throw it at him and glared. Her voice was dangerously this side of civil when she said,  
“I do not wish to discuss this further, Inspector. In fact I do not wish to speak with you at all. If ever. “

With that she stormed away, oblivious to the faces that were quickly trying to look anywhere but at the woman climbing the stairs or the man standing stoically in the foyer.

The colour on the cheeks and neck of the stoic man slowly turned a significant blotchy red. Then his eyes narrowed and his mouth flattened. Without further pause, Jack took two long strides and launched himself up the stairs as well, muttering the wasp's reply. _“If I be waspish, best beware my sting!”_

Mrs. Stanley, Mac, Dot, Mr. Butler, Cec and Bert looked at each other as they heard an upstairs door slam, reopen and then slam again.

“Well, time to be on my way Albert,” said Mrs. Stanley hurriedly. “Thank you very much Mr. Butler for the lovely tea.”

Mr. Butler bowed and retrieved her coat and hat from the closet under the front hall stairs.

Mac, for her part, would really have preferred to stay and enjoy what promised to be a very entertaining show but good manners begrudgingly prevailed and she accepted her hat and coat as well.

As Mr. Butler moved towards the open front door to farewell the guests, there came a terrible crash from above.

All heads looked up, fairly certain that the noise had come from Phryne's bedroom directly overhead. Everyone froze and studiously tried to school their expressions so as to not reflect their thoughts. Mrs. Stanley's stoney countenance conveyed nothing; Mac tried to cover a small smirk with a polite cough. Mr. Butler, who was facing the entrance, was glad to be out of sight. The drivers Bert and Cec gave each other a side eye. Cec was embarrassed for his Miss; Bert was trying his best not to guffaw out loud. And Dot... well a truly horrified look started to spread across her face and she addressed Mac.

“It sounds like someone might have gotten hurt, shouldn't we go check. They might need a doctor!”

Mac looked at the stricken Dot and thought, not for the first time, that the only doctor those two idiots needed was a psychiatrist, preferably to have their heads examined. “No Dot, I am sure everything is fine. They just need to iron out a few points of contention.” _Hopefully several times and at length._ Mac did not share that thought out loud.

Then there came the sound of something heavy falling with a thud to the floor.

It took a matter of seconds for the guests and their drivers to vacate the house. Mr. Butler and Dorothy quickly cleared the remains of the tea and escaped to the kitchen.


	2. Chapter 2

Jack stood with his back firmly pressed against the bedroom door, as if this was about as far as he wanted to venture. He had only been in Phryne's inner sanctum twice before, all in the line of duty, and he already felt that he was crossing a line here in more ways than one. Fortunately he still had his full armour on, including his long grey overcoat and brown fedora, and that calmed his sense of propriety, a little. And he resolutely refused to even glance at the large bed situated against the wall to his right.

Phryne paced between her vanity and the fireplace, which were situated on the opposite side of the room. Her lips were pressed tightly together as if trying to prevent herself from blurting out something she might regret.

Jack knew he needed to tread carefully in what he said next; he also knew there was a good possibility that whatever he said would not be the right thing. “Are you alright? Are you hurt?” he ventured.

Phryne stopped pacing and turned a defiant face to him, eyes blazing and hands on hips. “Of course I am alright, I had the situation well in hand.”

“You don't look alright.”

“And whose fault is that, throwing me into a pile of rubbish?”

“He had grabbed a metal bar, he was going to belt you with it!”

In the melee, the wharfie that Phryne had been trying to subdue had managed to arm himself with a loose lead pipe and Jack had pushed her out of the way so that he could disarm the smuggler himself.

“I would have handled it, Jack.” She gestured at him. “Instead, you had so little faith in me you handled me!”

Jack swallowed, but did not look away. He was not going to back down.

“That's not fair, I was trying to protect you!” Jack stopped and he bit his bottom lip; he had known he would say the wrong thing, and choosing the word protect was definitely the worst thing he could have done. _Idiot!_

“Protect me? We've had this discussion before Jack. You still insist on regarding me as weaker - because I'm a woman. I do not need a knight in shining armour to ride to the rescue.”

“I understand that, but we’re supposed to be partners. Partners have each other’s back when the situation calls for it. You seem determined to forget that when it suits.” Jack had tried to tamp down his anger but it came unbidden.

Phryne's mouth formed an O, her face incredulous. Every muscle in her being was fighting to control her emotions in that moment; angry tears were threatening behind her eyes.

She looked at the shoe still in her hand. She lifted it and went to slam it forcefully to the floor in her pique. Unfortunately it was still covered with a fair amount of mud and it slipped from Phryne's grip as she reared back. To her horror it flew up and forward towards the bedroom door.

Jack managed to duck at the last minute, however his hat was not as fortunate. His beloved fedora, a gift from her, was knocked from his head and went flying towards a night stand at the near side of the bed. The fedora brushed a large vase of flowers and sent it wobbling for a few seconds before it toppled over. There was a large crash accompanied by a deluge of water and fresh cut flowers.

Jack, who had ended up on his hands and knees, stood up gingerly and after eyeing the damage swung his head slowly to where Phryne stood. Shock coated both their faces, eyes large, mouths agape. Phryne's beautiful aquamarine eyes were now wet with frustrated tears. Jack's dark blue eyes were like a startled deer's. And they just stared at one another.

“I can't believe you threw that at me.”

“Oh, for goodness sake Jack, if I was throwing it at you I would have hit you!”

“You... you ruined my hat.”

“I'll buy you another!”

Phryne was livid. Alright she was sorry about the shoe, but she had clearly never intended to throw it at him, there was no need for him to carry on, and it was only a bloody hat! No, he was just trying to avoid the real issue, his overly protective behaviour. And quite frankly, to accuse her of being the problem by suggesting she didn’t understand how a partnership was supposed to work?

Phryne looked down and started to play with the traces of mud still clinging to her fingers, trying to wipe them off.

To be truthful, she had little experience with this partnership idea. She had fought so hard to be independent and her own person. With a fierce determination. She had had to keep people at arm's length. To protect herself. To become who she was, the phoenix that had risen from the ashes of poverty and abuse and loss. And now... now that she had people she cared about and people who cared about her, did she still have too many walls up?

She was a little off balance now as she reconsidered his words. “ Is that how you really think I regard our partnership Jack? ” Phryne felt it deeply.

“Phryne, I hope you consider me a partner and colleague.... I do, but more importantly I consider you my friend.” He was now looking at his hands too and added shyly, “ A dear friend. I trust you more than anyone. I guess I just wish you would trust me enough to realize that when I ride in like a knight, as you put it, it is not strictly because you are a woman or I regard you as weak.”

Phryne did not reply.

Jack continued, realizing that he had an opening here. “Trust should be a two way street in a partnership ... it's important... to me. It’s _essential._ ” He stressed. And then added his line in the sand, “Non negotiable. ”

 _God he was a stubborn_ , Phryne thought.

“You are important to me. I ... I care for you. It scares me if you won't let me have your back. I'm sorry if that feels demeaning or threatening to you, but ... but ... “ There was a long pause and his voice lowered to an almost whisper. “ I ... I am who I am Phryne, I can't give that up.” Jack’s eyes became wary as he said this, but he took a chance and moved closer to her, raising his right arm and curling his fingers around the left hand she had hanging by her side.

Phryne eyes had hardened to a dark grey, like steel, as he spoke of trust and her apparent lack thereof. She glared into Jack's expressive eyes. She read no evasiveness; it was as if his eyes were baring his soul.

_Damn the man. How dare he. How dare he use her words._

Then it hit her, what he was actually saying – he was asking her to trust his motives when he charged in and he was asking her to accept him as he was. Once upon a time, Jack had found the thought of losing her, due to her adventurous spirit, unbearable. He had walked away to protect his heart as he could not fathom her being anything other than who she was. And he sadly knew he would never want her to be anything other than who she was. But then this brave man had realized that the chance of losing her was not as unbearable as not having her in his life and by his side.

_Touché, Detective Inspector._

Phryne felt her anger start to dissipate. She could not argue against Jack's reasoning. What he was asking was no more than what she had always wanted for herself. Trust and faith from another. And Jack, as the good friend he had proved himself to be, deserved no less. It did not mean she would always like everything he did or said, but it was a good compromise. _Heaven knows he has had to accept a lot about her._ And people were ever evolving. Phryne finally relaxed a little and let out a long breath.

Jack was watching intently and caught the shift in Phryne's eyes; her brows and forehead smoothed a little and her lips twitched. She disengaged her left hand from his and brought both of hers up to rest palm down on his overcoat lapels. Her fingers then curled slightly as she took hold and tugged his torso forwards.

Jack startled as she stood up on her toes and brought their faces close together, a hair's breadth away from noses touching.

“I suppose you think you're rather clever, Inspector?”

“Clever enough not to say another word, Miss Fisher.”

Phryne smirked, _he really was a very, very clever man._

Jack didn't dare breathe. His cheeks and neck had started to flush again and his heart felt like it would come out of his chest. It seemed as if the two of them were perched atop a precipice and the next step ... the next step... would be his. What had occurred to him was that it was about time he made a decision too. Their dance around each other had gone up and down, gone back and forth and... and... gone on long enough. Time to meet in the middle.

The Inspector slowly raised his hands and gently placed them on either side of her face, as if to cherish it, both thumbs caressing her beautiful cheeks. Phryne's eyes widened. They both held their breaths as Jack tilted his head slightly and pressed his lips to hers. The jolt was much like that first time in Café Replique. It was electric, sparking down their spines to their toes.

Time passed, or maybe it didn't. The kiss became more urgent and deepened; lips parted, tongues explored and all the accumulated longing and wanting of years past were passionately unleashed. Phryne, devouring Jack's mouth and grasping the lapels of his overcoat, was pulling him closer and at the same time impatiently trying to push the garment off his shoulders. Jack for his part was helplessly trying to decide where to put his hands as they left her face and finally settled on her coat lapels as well. Their arms tangled as his mind was full of her beautiful mouth and red lips and her taste and her scent. And he was lost.

Eventually, Phryne, still desperately trying to get through his layers, felt her calves hit the side of the bed and started to go over bringing him with her. Jack shot out his arms instinctively so as not to land on her at full force and ended up rolling over on his back with Phryne sprawled on top of him. She grinned at his discombobulation as he blinked up at her, his arms still trying to free themselves from his overcoat. Jack finally thrashed them out of the sleeves and retaliated by rolling them again to gain the advantage. It was his turn to grin down at her.

They were both breathing heavily by now and all tangled legs and arms and overcoats. Phryne started to giggle at the farce of their situation and Jack smirked his barely-there smile. Then his face became serious. He lowered his head and buried his face in the notch between her neck and shoulder, trailing soft kisses there. At the same time he put his arms around her and just held her. The feeling of having her tightly pressed to him was incredible, more than he could ever have imagined. Phryne disentangled her arms and wrapped them around his neck and hugged him tightly too. He smelled wonderful and felt solid and warm and safe. An overwhelming affection for this man filled her and she felt like she never wanted to let go.

However, ever the warrior that Phryne was, she took advantage of Jack's distraction and rolled them once more. Unfortunately, this was one turn too many as they found nothing but air and fell gracelessly to the floor at the foot of Phryne's bed. He landed on his back with a thud; she landed heavily on top facing him.

Jack's breath was expelled with a loud huff.

“Ouch,” came his low, gravelly complaint.

“Shush, Jack.”


	3. Chapter 3

The room was dark except for the faint greyish glow of moonlight which had seeped through the window and the lace curtains and fell with a slant on the bed. The night sky was an inky, star-lit black, the dawn still an hour away from making its initial appearance in the eastern sky. A puff of wind off the bay moved the curtains slightly, then carried on to rustle the feather boa draped haphazardly across the vanity mirror and brush across the bed. It might have gently stirred errant strands of hair if there had been occupants.

However, there was neither occupants nor bedding nor pillows on the bed.

The quiet in the room conveyed a peaceful sanctuary, broken only by two sets of nearly inaudible breathing. One a lighter, almost sighing inhale and exhale, the other a deeper almost soft snore, almost snuffle.

Suddenly there came a quiet step outside the door, followed by a tentative brushing of knuckles.

“Beg pardon Miss,” whispered Mr. Butler.

There was movement amongst a pile of bedding and pillows heaped against the foot of the bed. The tumble of fur blanket, sheets, pillows and duvet stirred and then shifted aside a little as a messy black haired head peeked out. A huff blew the hair partially from its face.

“Yaaaaaaasss?”, the voice was low, unsteady, raspy.

“Sorry to disturb Miss, but Constable Collins has telephoned. There's been a murder apparently.”

“Thank you, Mr. Butler. Coffee I think, lots of it.”

“Very good, Miss.” Footsteps trailed off.

Phryne turned over and sat up, wrapping a sheet around her and rubbing the back of her head. She felt tired and groggy. Then she became aware that her body felt delightfully sore, in many lovely places, and opened her eyes fully. The room was a riot of discarded clothes and accessories; so in disarray that even Phryne was impressed. The edges of her lips slowly turned up and she glowed. Twisting to her left, she began to rummage through the mound of bedding beside her until she found what she was looking for. Turning back a corner of the duvet she caught sight of her quarry.

Nestled amongst the tangle of sheets, pillows and blanket lay a mop of brown curls, flecked with gold. Phryne’s smile grew devilish and she poked a bare shoulder.

There was a low groan and a shift of the head.

“Wake up sleeping beauty, duty calls. Well, the constabulary kind.”

An unintelligible sound followed. Phryne leaned closer to the man lying beside her. She slowly stroked a palm across a smooth, tanned shoulder, then along taut back muscles and settled it on the back of his neck, where she traced small circles with her thumb through the short hair there. The body stirred again and slowly struggled to roll over, revealing a handsome but harried countenance, eyes closed, but a very nicely muscled and toned chest.

“Hmmph”

“Hello Jack.” Phryne beamed. There had not been anything reserved or dour about her inspector last night. “I’m looking for my partner, the rather stubborn, over-protective but terribly clever man... Have you seen him? I could have sworn he was here earlier.”

A muffled response.

“ I didn't quite catch that, what was that?”

“ I ...think ....you ...killed ...him.” Another low groan.

“Oh dear, I do hope not. I have plans for him.” Phryne nuzzled against his nose and sighed. “Unfortunately they will have to wait. His presence is required at a crime scene this morning.”

“Hell.”

“Shall I call Hugh back?” She asked innocently.

A tanned and sinewy forearm shot out from under the covers, grabbed Phryne around the waist and she shrieked as he pulled her down on top of him.

She brushed the hair from his face and kissed the smugness from his lips. Jack wrapped his arms around her and danced his fingers slowly down the lovely, soft, almost translucent skin along her back to lovingly caress her bottom.

“But Inspector, the murder, shouldn't we......”

“Miss Fisher, I’m pretty sure the body is not going anywhere.”

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from one of my favourite Shakespeare plays 'Taming of the Shrew'  
> Wouldn't it be fantastic if Essie Davis and Nathan Page performed this play on stage.
> 
> “Petruchio: Come, come, you wasp; i' faith, you are too angry.  
> Katherine: If I be waspish, best beware my sting.  
> Petruchio: My remedy is then, to pluck it out.  
> Katherine: Ay, if the fool could find where it lies.  
> Petruchio: Who knows not where a wasp does wear his sting? In his tail.  
> Katherine: In his tongue.  
> Petruchio: Whose tongue?  
> Katherine: Yours, if you talk of tails: and so farewell.  
> Petruchio: What, with my tongue in your tail? Nay, come again, Good Kate; I am a gentleman.” 
> 
> ― William Shakespeare, The Taming of the Shrew


End file.
